A compilation of life experiences, relationships and, when applicable, analysis of same re: value and/or detrimental effect. This is combined with ongoing current event commentary - personal & global - and the effects, in the writer's opinion, said events potentiate.

Saturday, January 7, 2017

My Wildest Dreams

Shouts of "Happy New Year!" have been heard in spates since the first of January - at least in my limited experience. And you can be certain that such ãn outburst would never be initiated by yours truly. (Just as certain as my ignorance of why that diacritical mark landed on the letter 'a' in the word "an".) This because within hours, often minutes, I would be told tacitly by an eager eavesdropper that the recipient of my ebullient greeting had lost his dog the previous day. I am puzzled by this perceived lack of uniformity with regard to 'happiness wishing' by known passersby. As a population, are there segments among us 'waiting for the other shoe to drop ', thinking "what's the point?"; could there be superstition afoot? Preoccupation? Heretofore unknown malevolence lurking in their 'over-the-shoulder' opinion bags? Gradual hearing loss? A trend toward insularity fueled by the unhappy accompanying spate of violence? General malaise? Asparagus? WHAT? Pondering this phenomenon the other night, I thought, "Never in my wildest dreams have I considered experiencing such behavior.". Pause. (mental drum roll) "Have I any wild, let alone superlatively so, dreams?" Statistically, they surely exist, but live in the young or lonely. As I tend to treasure solitude, if I had wildest or even wild dreams, it was so long ago, I've forgotten them. And more's the pity, as they could have been rather entertaining doozies! Ironically, I often admonish my grandchildren , "Dream Big!" Sad realization indeed to think the 'admonisher' dreamt not at all.But she did. From the moment I spied my babysitter Aunt's Underwood typewriter, I went into a child's forbidden trance. (Forbidden because kids from Brooklyn don't 'do' trances.) "Someday, I'm going to be a writer." (Whilst dear Aunt Stephie was yelling, "Don't bang on the piana!") Piana indeed. I'd given my regards to Broadway in the form of seeing Camelot and My Fair Lady twice each - payola from my older brother - my senior by five years, for grabbing the NYU grade postcards and handing them over to him before the parents got home from work. Why Camelot and My Fair Lady? 'So's I wouldn' be sayin' things like "piana" or yellin'. Guess I had some wildest dreams after all. Well, wild anyway. I'm writing this blog. "Wildest" would be having avid, devoted readers, after being published in 'grown-up people books. My lot, it would seem, is more akin to Dorothy Parker's retort to an evening soirée invitee's query, "Oh. Are you entertaining?" "Not very." The latter remark was Dorothy's. For the record, then, my little grandpeeps, Grams DID have "wildest dreams" and for you, dear readers, I should like to apologize for my shocking breach of taste in not wishing each (or both) of you the HAPPIEST EVER OF NEW YEARS!Later, Lorane. . . . .